


The Deep Breath

by SeasaltStars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blue Lions timeline, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Ignatz is trans, M/M, Sylvain is also trans, mild dysphoria talk, mild mentions of past family trauma/abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23115829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasaltStars/pseuds/SeasaltStars
Summary: After war broke out across Fódlan, Ignatz escaped with his newfound love instead of returning home to his past demons. But even a gentle heart struggles to find peace when danger looms so close to their doorstep.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Ignatz Victor
Kudos: 13





	The Deep Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Blue Lions timeline Ignatz/Sylvain extraordinaire where Ignatz is a trans man and Sylvain is also a trans man because I'm a trans man and I uhhhh say so. I think they work really well together and I love their relationship dynamic so I want to explore that lots. Also Ignatz is a caster instead of an archer in this timeline because that's a really fun way to play him and you should try it!
> 
> I'm EXTREMELY invested in this timeline so I'm probably going to be writing lots of it, it ended up hitting close to home in a lot of ways. I'm totally not projecting what are you talking about hahaaa 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I'll be continuing QitL as well but I REALLY needed to get this ball rolling too!

Ignatz stared out the window, surveying the snowy landscape and trying not to be as upset as he was. It was an argument they'd had before, and a conflict that had been around since the war first broke out and they first arrived back in Gautier territory. 

I should be out there with him.

He had every reason NOT to be, of course. Though he may have been one of the most powerful ice mages during their year at the Officer's Academy, Ignatz was by no means a fighter. He detested violence, hurting, he didn't even like being angry very much. To say nothing of his frail body, weakened from years of magical strain.

And yet... staying home like this made Ignatz feel like a useless, doting housewife, waiting on every second for her gallant husband to come home, because she had nothing else to do with her life. Everything Ignatz had grown up dreading he'd become.

He didn't understand WHY he felt like this every time. Sylvain was the one person who made him feel /okay/ with who he was. Sylvain, who saw him for the man he was, because he faced the same struggle. Sylvain, the school womanizer, who had taken Ignatz back to his dorm and shown no shock or disgust at his bound chest, and who made him feel unashamed to be touched, to be loved.

Sylvain, who years ago told Ignatz that he made him want to be better, to try harder. And he had, ever since, no matter how hard it had been at times.

And yet. There was Ignatz, feeling like he'd ended up fulfilling his awful parents' dream of marrying him off to some well-off noble man after all.

And yet. And yet.

It wasn't Sylvian's fault, and Sylvain was never mad at him for being upset. Ignatz just wished he'd get over it already. Sylvain had been right at every point, in their argument. Ignatz was no fighter. Having him out there would only make Sylvain worry more, and that's what Ignatz wanted to avoid, right? "You don't know what these soldiers are like, Ignatz. You'd be gone long before I ever knew. This is my fight. Please, don't feel obligated to fight it for my sake."

Ignatz had actually laughed at that. How responsible Sylvain had become since their time at the Academy. 

He sighed, fogging up a patch on the frosted window. He missed him, that was all. He worried. And he somehow managed to make that his fault too, his burden. He tried to imagine it, when he got like this. Patrolling along on horseback, in the pitch dark and the snow, an arrow in his neck before he could even survey the area. Yeah... it really wasn't his fight.

"He'll be fine, son."

Ignatz' body didn't react to the sudden voice with shock. At this point, he welcomed the interruption. Margrave Gautier stood a few paces away, and it still surprised Ignatz how unimposing the man looked. Dressed in his sleep clothes, his youthful face shadowed with exhaustion, he hardly looked the part of one of the most important figures in the Kingdom's current political climate. 

"Sir-"

Sylvain's father held up a hand and smiled; a quiet "no need for that" that Ignatz had heard a thousand times by now. 

"... I know he will be."

"Then why stand there and worry?"

It was a rhetorical question. Both understood why perfectly well.

"... If your mind is too busy for rest, why not do something for a while? Something quiet?"

Ignatz shook his head, and brushed a stray lock that drooped behind his frames. "I... couldn't in good conscience, right now. It doesn't feel right to paint."

"Why not?"

Ignatz couldn't make himself say it. I should be out there with him.

The Margrave didn't need to hear him say it to know what he was feeling. He stood beside him in front of the window, watching the snow begin to fall in the night.

"It's not your burden, son. Nor should it have to be."

"I know."

"Has your mind changed? Do you truly wish to be out there, fighting? Killing?"

"... No. I know it's just... it's all pretty ideas. Honor and all that. I just feel like I should be doing something, but I'm not. I feel idle..."

"Your time will come. You once spoke of a promise you and Sylvain made... that will be your time for action. But not here, not now."

Ignatz nodded, still gazing over the snow.

"Please, son. Try to find peace while you can. When your time comes..." 

The Margrave sighed. "You may need to accept that you won't find such peace again."

"I understand."

Though Ignatz understood his strained past with his children, why Sylvain was so apprehensive of him even now, his heart always wept for the Margrave. He was everything Sylvain had been afraid of becoming but accepted would happen anyway; married off young, bred for his Crest, no life beyond the molds that had long been cast for him. And now here he stood, worn and aged far beyond his years, one child gone, then rotten, then gone again, wife long dead before any of it. A shell of someone who never even had the chance to exist. 

Sylvain had vowed never to fall into the same fate, and Ignatz had silently sworn to always be there, to keep him from falling.

And despite all of that... the man had never been anything but wonderful to him, to both of them, after they'd come home. He accepted Ignatz, and Sylvain. He gave them both the space they needed, and the comfort when they needed it more. He knew it wasn't as easy for Sylvain, that the kindness now didn't undo whatever happened in his upbringing. Sylvain had every right to feel how he felt. But to Ignatz, the man had felt more like a caring father than his own parents ever had.

"... I think I'll go and paint now. I'm sorry, sir."

"What are you sorry for?"

Ignatz clenched his teeth, unable to find an answer. 

The Margrave smiled. "It's all right. Let your brush say what your words can't quite grasp."

With that, he turned and headed back toward his own room. "Goodnight, son."

"... Goodnight..."

Ignatz waited until the footsteps faded. He took one last look out the window and took a deep breath, in, out, fogging a much larger patch on the window. Without thinking, he drew a little smile before the fog faded. Maybe it'd make someone else smile later.

Back in the room he shared with Sylvain, Ignatz decided just to sketch before settling in for bed; painting was a process that would keep him up til first light. He readied his drawing board and his charcoal, and propped himself up on the vanity. It mostly existed for decoration; the only use it saw was when Sylvain attempted to slick his hair a certain way (it never worked; his hair was beyond taming), and when Ignatz used his own body for reference, like the self portrait he was starting now.

Portraits had never come very easy for Ignatz. He was much more inclined to looking at pretty flowers and vast landscapes, not people in the eye. But he'd never get better if he didn't practice, and drawing from life took a lot more focus than coming up with the images himself. The mind strayed easier when he did, and that's what he was trying to avoid at this particular moment. 

He began with a full-arm gesture to outline the oval of the face, then the harder lines of his neck. Rather than outline features, he patched in shadows, planes of light and dark to work the shapes into. It was nice looking at his own face now, after he'd learned the more effective magic for his body. His features were a little longer, a little sharper. Elegant, but still masculine, slowly but surely losing the roundness of a girlhood now gone for years. He liked his new hair now too, though a tinge of embarrassment still bit at him with the memory. 

It hadn't been his proudest moment. The day long after transferring to Blue Lions, kept up late by a torrent of awful thoughts, where he hacked away his bowl cut himself. He had tried to sweep the top to the right and take the sides in close, but it became nothing more than a choppy mess. He still vividly remembered sulking into Dedue's room the next morning, hood up in shame, asking if he could try and salvage it. Or, he would've, if he hadn't have started crying first, but Dedue had understood all the same. And Dedue, gentle and wonderful as he was, had managed to save it into something not that bad. Ignatz had kept it ever since. He thought about it with a half-smile as he shaded in the fade by his temples, swept strands of hair over to his portrait's right, and wondered if Dedue was doing okay out there.

Time passed, though Ignatz wasn't sure how long exactly. He didn't really care. It was just something to do until he dropped. And by the time he carefully lined the shine of his glasses with white wax and his fingertips were smudged completely black, his eyes were finally heavy, his mind dulled to a haze. He put out the lights and climbed into bed, leaving the fire blazing, knowing he'd wake to a frigid room otherwise. 

Thoughts of Sylvain wandered into his mind again. The way he held him so gently when they slept, the soft broadness of his chest, the way he could perfectly hook a leg around Ignatz' knee to draw him in that much closer. He was changing too, Ignatz could see. Sylvain had been transitioning much longer than him, but even now Ignatz could see things like the strengthening of his jawline, the toning in his arms, the scruff that sometimes framed his face (which Sylvain absolutely /detested/). He was beautiful, Ignatz thought absently to himself. And he'll be home soon.

........................

It was still dark out when Ignatz heard the commotion outside, but he snapped to full consciousness in an instant. He bolted out of bed and flung open the window curtain; and sure enough, far down in the courtyard below was Sylvain's scouting party, still unharmed as far as Ignatz could tell. 

Ignatz threw on whatever he could to make himself presentable and bolted downstairs.

He loved him. He cared about him. And when Sylvain, weary and numb from traveling in the cold, lit up at the sight of him and drew him in for a deep embrace, Ignatz knew this was just another small show of how much Sylvain felt the same way.

And that was nothing to be ashamed of.


End file.
